Purity
by Crystal Phoenix1
Summary: AU sixth year story. WITHOUT CLICHES! What if Hermione was not a mudblood after all. I'm trying to avoid the massive OOCness you usually get with these stories.
1. Chapter 1

**Yes it is a Pureblood Hermione story (I can hear the groans from here) however I'm going to try to avoid all the usual clichés (difficult as the whole concept is a cliché!) so that means no dramatic changes to her appearance, no tight green halter-neck tops and black leather minis. And most importantly no betrothal to a certain Mr D. Malfoy, although who knows what will happen later wink**

**I'm also trying to avoid writing a Hermione finds out she is pureblood-moves in with her parents-goes to Hogwarts chapter which although it moves the plot along has everything happening far too quickly for comfort, so if it is too slow for you I promise I'll get there eventually.**

**Do let me know if you spot any horrible glaring OOC ness and please R+R people, Reviews brighten my day!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, go figure!**

Hermione Granger frowned, pushed an escaping strand of brown hair away from her face, and squinted at the computer screen again. Outside a bright flash was quickly succeeded by a crash of thunder, the summer storm which had kept her inside the house for the past two hours was almost directly overhead.

Hermione sighed, she, the cleverest witch in her year, was totally stuck. Moving the mouse again she caught the chicken and then whipped the glass from her Personal Electronic Thing (PET). In theory, when she held the glass under the chicken dispenser nozzle she should get the pureed starlings which were needed by the Bar Bot. In return he would give her Titania's Piece which would allow her to finish the game. Unfortunately the game didn't seem to want to co-operate, Starship Titanic was engrossing and interesting, but when it wouldn't work properly it annoyed Hermione immeasurably. Exasperated she saved the game and exited, switching the computer off. The hum of the fan faded and the room was silent, but for the spattering of raindrops against the window, and the small sounds of her cat, Crookshanks, washing himself on her bed. Another flash and crash combination reverberated around the house as Hermione moved towards the bed and sat down.

The honest truth was that she was rather bored. The weather, which had been muggy and oppressive, had blossomed into the current storm, and while tomorrow would probably be a lovely day that thought was no very present help. Her parents were expecting guests for dinner and, although she would be expected to sit at the table and be polite there was very little Hermione could do in the way of helping prepare. The neat dining room had been vacuumed and a new cloth put on the table and the lounge had been tidied so the guests could be ushered in for pre-prandial drinks and afterwards for coffee and liquors. Glancing at her small wristwatch Hermione groaned, it was still only 12:30, another seven hours until she would legitimately have something to do, even if that something was only answering the door and taking coats.

Hermione allowed herself to flop backwards, her upper body lolling on the bed, eyes gazing sightlessly at the white aertex ceiling. Her room was a pleasant one, with pale apple green walls and a slightly darker green carpet. A pale pink rug adorned the floor and, pink curtains hung at the window. She had decorated it herself when she was 11, at the time she had high hopes of her parents buying her a new set of matching furniture to replace the old, rather mix and match pieces which were there. Unfortunately for Hermione her rather grand dream of having a beautiful apple blossom bower had fallen flat, with her parents refusing to buy the lovely (although, if truth be told, very expensive) bedroom set which she had seen and coveted, so the room retained it's original furniture. A dark pine wardrobe stood in one corner, contrasting oddly with the beech effect desk on which her computer now stood. The oak bed head and the lighter coloured pine chest of draws were complimented by a small (rather drab) white chipboard night table and the ensemble was completed by a black chipboard book case, containing so many books piled haphazardly that the shelves sagged somewhat under their combined weight.

Hoisting herself back upright Hermione crossed the room to the bookcase and knelt down beside it, intending to find something to read. The books it contained were all old friends, most she had read at least 10 times and some were so well worn that they were practically falling apart. Looking at the mess Hermione reached a decision, she would beguile the tedium by mending and patching up as many books as needed it! Beginning with the top row she started to pull books out, making two piles, those which required attention, and those which didn't. Behind the second row of books she discovered one of her favourite paperbacks, a loosely truthful regency history, which she had presumed lost two summers previously and had been unable to find another copy of. Opening it she crossed back to her bed and curled up next to the cat, her previous task forgotten.

She hadn't read more than a chapter when she became aware that the thunder had stopped, and the drumming of the rain had died away to a faint whisper. Minutes later her mother tapped on her door.

"Hermione sweetheart?" Swinging her legs off the bed Hermione stood and crossed to the door. Opening it she asked;

"Yes Mum? Did you want me to do something?" Her mother smiled at her helpful daughter.

"I'm sorry to disturb you darling but we've run out of good coffee and your Dad and I are busy with the cooking. Would you mind awfully going and getting some for me now the rain has stopped? You know the sort we like." Hermione smiled too;

"Of course, the Whittards Arabica one, yes? Anything else I can get while I'm out?"

"Darling, Thank you." Said her mother; "Would you get some fresh flowers too? Freesias preferably, the florist on the corner had some lovely ones yesterday." She looked thoughtfully at her daughter for a few seconds. "You might try to get an appointment at the hairdressers too, you need a trim, your hair is getting rather messy at the ends."

Hermione sighed; "I know, the conditioner doesn't seem to be working very well, it's still splitting and it's so frizzy."

"The humidity hasn't helped." Commented her mother; "See if the hairdresser can recommend anything, I'm happy to pay the difference if it's more expensive than what you are using now. They might even have an appointment for today."

"Oh thanks Mum." Said Hermione happily, her hair was the one part of her appearance that she didn't much like, it was thick and slightly curly and had a tendency towards bushiness. It also split at the ends, lending to the frizzy-ness but was greasy on the top, meaning that washing it every day was a must despite the extra splitting that caused. Apart from the hair though Hermione was quite satisfied with her appearance, at almost 16 her body was developing at it's own pace, her bust, although not massive by any standards was a neat B cup, and her waist was fairly trim, although she still carried a little puppy fat around her hips. Her skin was a pleasant creamy colour, although currently it was dotted with the few spots of adolescence. Hermione however was not concerned enough about how she looked to smother her face with make up to hide almost unnoticeable blemishes, in fact she seldom wore make up at all, contenting herself with a little chap protection to prevent her shapely lips from cracking. A small nose, large brown eyes and white, although not truly even teeth completed her facial features. She wasn't a beauty, but she had a certain charm, especially in her slightly mischievous smile, which lit her expression when it appeared.

Grabbing her jacket from where it hung on a hook behind her door she trotted downstairs, caught her bag up from the hall table, double checked it for keys and money, and swung it over her shoulder. Pulling open the front door she stepped outside into glorious sunshine, and the smell of wet earth.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry about the delay in getting this written. I'm trying to do a PhD as well so I'm in the lab most of the day. This gets written in drips and drabs when I'm bored with scientific papers or too tired to think.

Do let me know if you pick up on any spelling/grammar errors, I'm dyslexic so stuff like that sometimes slips through the net!

**Quick disclaimer: **If I was JK Rowling would I be doing a PhD in breast cancer research? No I would be writing book 7. Logically then I can't be JK Rowling so I don't own Harry Potter or any of the other characters!

The dark grey pavements gleamed in the sunshine; puddles of dark water became glistening mirrors, reflecting lampposts, trees and the wispy clouds which were all that remained of the earlier storm. Many, less active people would have caught the bus into town, although the walk from her parents' house into the main shopping street was less than twenty minutes. Hermione chose to walk however, swinging her shoulders and stepping out briskly in the fresh air, she enjoyed walking, and the small town in which her parents lived was very pretty, surrounded by the rolling Oxfordshire countryside. Few cars passed her as she strolled along, and only one bus appeared, going in the opposite direction which made her glad that she hadn't wasted her time by waiting at the bus stop. Hermione was, in fact, feeling contented, even happy. The problems of the wizarding world seemed to her very far away at this moment, when the sun shone and the bees buzzed around the flowers growing in front gardens. Voldemort, his Death Eaters and their growing power were banished to the back of her mind, although she kept her wand with her at all times, easily accessible in her pocket. It would have been a foolish mistake to forget totally about the dangers which could surround her at any moment, but for now she felt secure enough not to worry about them, or even to think about the wizarding world for a few hours. For now she was Hermione Granger, a perfectly normal girl having a perfectly normal day in a normal town.

Reaching the town centre Hermione paused for a second to consider what she should do first. There were two hairdressers in the town, although both were at the other end of the high street, the florist was very close, but, she reasoned, if she was supposed to be getting some flowers for the evening then she would do better to get them just before she started back so they would remain nice.

The Whittards tea shop was about half way up the high street so she made for there first. The blue frontage and the summery display of iced teas, pretty coloured glasses and paper flowers was very enticing, and as she opened the glass fronted door the scent of ground coffee and loose tea assailed her. Glancing from side to side as she entered she spotted the bags of coffee beans lining the high shelves. Stepping forward she began to scan the bags for the coffee her mother preferred.

When she had located and paid for the coffee she took a few minutes to look around the shop, noting the new fruit tea range. Hermione liked fruit infusions which she made with apple juice to retain the flavours. In the summer it was very nice to take a cool cup of fruit tea garnished with mint out into the garden and read for a while.

When she stepped back outside she realised just how warm it was after the air conditioned shop, so she took off her jacket and slung it over her arm, surreptitiously checking that her wand was in its accustomed place in the right hand pocket. The jacket was a rather nice one, made from a jade green suede material with mother-of-pearl effect buttons. It was warm enough to keep any chill out, but light enough for summer wear. Her parents had given it to her for Christmas, and although Hermione had had little opportunity to wear it at school she gratified them by wearing it all summer instead. Truth be told Hermione now felt rather more comfortable in the robe and cloak which made up normal wizarding attire, but in the middle of the Home Counties one is regarded as potentially dangerous if one wears unusual clothing. So it was that Hermione was wearing a fashionable long, dark brown gypsy style skirt and a fitted white t-shirt as well as brown sandals on her feet, she looked cool and summery, and utterly normal.

She began to walk again making her way towards Headlines, the little hairdresser which she and her mother patronised which was tucked away down a dark side street.

The small salon was empty when she entered, but, hearing the bell jangle, one of the hairdressers came out from behind the curtain which screened the staffroom from the main shop. The air smelt slightly acrid with the peroxide used for colouring and slightly soapy where the sinks stood with their bottles of shampoo.

"Can I help you?" she asked with a smile,

"Err, yes" replied Hermione, "I'd like to book a haircut for sometime this week please."

The large black desk diary, which all hairdressers seem to have, was fished out from under the tiny till, and dumped on the strip of reception desk not already containing 'phone, till or pens.

"We have an appointment free in an hour." said the hairdresser, tapping the book with her biro. "Or there is a space at three on Tuesday afternoon."

Hermione looked at her watch, which said 1:40, still plenty of time to get her hair trimmed, and get her mothers' flowers before the florist closed at 5.

"I'll take the one today, thanks." She decided "How much will it cost by the way?"

The woman looked at her for a second;

"£20 for a style and blow dry, unless you're under 16?" The last was definitely a question, Hermione blushed slightly.

"No I'm 16." She said quietly, she always found it a little embarrassing when strangers assumed she was younger than she was. Most of the girls in her year were rather more...well...developed than she was.

"Can I have your name please?" the woman's pen was poised over the book.

"Granger." said Hermione calmly as the hairdresser wrote down the details.

"Lovely, we'll see you later then."

"Thank you." replied Hermione politely as she turned and left the salon.

So, she had an hour to kill. What to do? Hermione pondered. Money was an obvious thing, the haircut cost £20 and after buying the coffee for her mother she only had £15 with her. Fortunately getting money in the Muggle world is even easier than the wizarding world, and Hermione had had her own bank account since the age of 5. When she had turned 13 the bank had sent her a Link card and a PIN number which would allow her to get money from any Link cash machine, unfortunately all it would do was allow her to get money out, not pay for goods over the counter like a credit card. Hermione didn't worry about these limitations; her parents had deposited £10 every week into the account since she had started Hogwarts and were very good about getting a little money out to send to her when she needed it. Admittedly at Hogwarts there wasn't much to buy; Hogsmede trips took place about once every month and apart from that there wasn't much need for lots of money at school. Hermione had found that she could easily get by on £40 per term which came to around 8 galleons when she gave the muggle bank notes to her head of house to exchange for her.

There was a bank at the far end of the high street she knew, but the new Waitrose had a cash machine near the entrance and it was much closer.

After getting her money Hermione checked her watch again, she still had at least 50 minutes before she needed to be back at the hairdressers. Quickly she sorted through all the things she could do; there was the library, but she didn't have her library card with her, the supermarket, no, too dull, the little boutiques, but they were full of "back to school" clothes, and she didn't really want anything anyway. That really only left the charity shops then.

When she had gone to the local junior school charity shops were sneered at. If your parents brought your uniform from there you were "pikey", obviously you parents were poor and you had no fashion sense. Hermione had always had her uniform summer dresses from the local Oxfam, not that her parents couldn't afford to buy them new, but, like most people from the baby boom generation they had been raised to "make do and mend". This had always humiliated Hermione, until she found that half her classmates also had their uniform brought second-hand. She could clearly remember being taken to the local Oxfam aged seven and meeting three of her friends in the shop, all trying on the schools standard yellow gingham summer dresses. At the time it had been excruciatingly embarrassing, but it had taught her that going into a charity shop was not the torture she had come to expect.

Now she was older, and, she hoped, wiser, the charity shop had become a treasure trove, not of clothes because the childhood memories still burned, but of other things, books, videos, games and jigsaws. Especially books, the local Oxfam had opened a dedicated second-hand bookshop and it was there that Hermione directed her footsteps.

Making a mental note to keep an eye on the time (it is so easy to get lost in a book) she stepped into the crowded little shop. There were only three other customers, plus an older woman behind the counter, but the shelves of books, videos and music made the shop seem much smaller.

Half an hour later Hermione walked out of the shop with four new books tucked into her shoulder bag. She had spared a few seconds thought for her groaning bookcase, but resolved to ask her father if he would buy her a larger one, and if he did say no then the extra books would be required to stuff the shelves and prevent then from breaking totally. Crossing the road carefully she made her way back to the hairdressers, even allowing for the five minutes it would take her to walk she was ten minutes early. Dawdling by a jewellers she gazed with tepid interest at the display of rings, huge diamond knuckledusters most of them, although there were a few pretty eternity rings and some attractive coloured stones on display too. Her eyes drifted upwards to the predictable set of men's heavy gold chains and huge gold hoop earrings, nothing interested her there, she didn't even have pierced ears, not many young witches did, it was just not very fashionable, magical earrings didn't require any self mutilation to wear.

Finally she moved on, having successfully wasted exactly three minutes. The next shop window made her smile, it was a neo-pagan shop run by a slightly overweight young woman who habitually wore unflattering black velvet. Hermione had vaguely known the girls younger sister in primary school. The little shop was full of crystals, Tarot cards, and books about Wicca. A heady smell of incense drifted out of the open door and the dusty window contained a display of "Spells" and "charms" in coloured gauze bags. It made Hermione smile slightly; most of the shops customers would have been astonished to know that the witches and wizards the emulated really existed.

Turning into the little side street again Hermione crossed the road to the hairdressers once more.

This time there was an older woman having a perm sitting in one of the chairs being chatted to by the hairdresser who had taken Hermione's appointment. They both looked up as Hermione entered.

"Just a moment" Said the hairdresser, smiling, then she called towards the back of the shop "Tina, can you come and help this lady please."

A second hairdresser appeared from the back and hurried over to the desk.

"Can I help you?" She asked. She was a couple of years older than Hermione with fashionably dead straight jaw length hair and a slanted fringe.

"Yes" replied Hermione politely, "I've got an appointment at 2:40, name of 'Granger.'"

"Ah, yes" said Tina, smiling, "This way please", and Hermione was lead to a chair facing a large mirror.

"Would you like to give me your jacket" asked Tina, taking it and whisking it over to a small hat stand festooned with black ponchos and hanging it up. She tweaked one down and came back to Hermione.

"What are you looking for today then?" She asked, draping the poncho around Hermione, and pressing the Velcro closed behind her neck.

"I'd like to get the split ends sorted please." Hermione replied, "I'd maybe like it a little more shaped around my face too." At the moment her hair hung almost straight at the sides of her face, with a thick fringe covering her forehead. Hermione had once tried wearing her hair without the fringe, which she thought made her look too young, but she had decided that her face looked far too long, almost equine, without one.

"Okay" Tina draped a towel about Hermiones' shoulders, tucking it in at the back of her neck. "Do you want to come over to the sinks?"

Hermione sat down on the indicated chair and allowed Tina to settle her hair into the sink.


	3. Chapter 3

**Quite a short chapter this one, but I'm trying to update regularly and this seemed to be a sensible place to break off. As I type this I've still only had one review. PLEEEEEASE review and tell me how wonderful it was, or even just say how rubbish my punctuation and spelling are! I want to know that you are out there and reading!**

**Disclaimer: Do I look like JK Rowling? No. Do I earn millions from the Harry Potter books? No. Therefore are the characters mine? You figure it out!**

Less than half an hour later Hermione was having her hair blow dried by Tina. She hadn't had much done really, the badly split ends had been removed, so her hair was a centimetre or so shorter and Tina had suggested taking some of the weight out of her fringe, leaving it much less heavy on her brows. The hair around Hermiones' face was now feathered, and curled up on her cheeks, making her face slightly more open. No drastic changes, but it certainly looked much neater. Hermione was aware that the salon effect wouldn't last longer than this evening, and she would never manage to perfect the look at home, but, as she paid and walked out of the shop she was well satisfied with her appearance.

She strode out briskly on her way down the road, her parents guests were arriving at 7:30 and her mother wanted those flowers to decorate the living room with. The freesias that Hermione and her mother loved were standing in a tub of water outside the florists shop. Each bunch was £1 or 6 for £5 according to the little board among the flowers. They weren't huge bunches, each one contained only four spikes of flowers and many had no buds which were fully open. Six bunches Hermione decided would be enough to fill the three vases in the living room, and leave some over to put in the centre of the dining table as well, so she knelt down to examine the bunches. There were no mixed colours; each bunch was either bright yellow, pale blue, white or dark red so Hermione chose one of each at first, plus an extra white bunch. She hesitated between the blue and the red for the final one, eventually hitting on the blue as none of the red bunches left in the tub were quite as nice. Then she stood and pushed open the door of the little shop.

Hermione had always loved the smell of the florists shop, the heady scent of flowers, water, sap, and pollen with overtones of wet peat and the crumbly oasis blocks was a magical one. The shop was very cool too; the air raised goosebumps on Hermiones arms and made her instinctively reach for her jacket as she crossed to the counter. A bored shop assistant, perched on a high stool behind the till hastily put down the newspaper she was reading and smiled unconvincingly.

"Hi there." she said brightly. Wordlessly Hermione put the freesia bunches down; their wet stems left a dribble of water on the counter.

"Do you want me to wrap these?" asked the girl, reaching for the roll of white paper by the side of the counter with one hand, and fishing for the scissors with the other.

"Yes, please" replied Hermione, the blooms would be kept cooler if they were wrapped, her mother wouldn't be so pleased if she was presented with a bunch of wilting flowers.

The girl deftly sheered off a length of paper from the roll, and wrapped the flowers, securing the end of the bunch with a piece of sellotape.

"That will be £5 please" she said, laying them down on the counter. Hermione fished around in her bag for the loose change which was all the money she had left; finally she came out with two pounds, a two pound coin and two silver fifty pence pieces which she put down on the counter. As she walked out of the shop the assistant was already buried in her paper again.

Clutching the flowers, her bag, and the plastic bag containing her new books and the coffee Hermione set off down the road. She made good time, reaching the end of her street at 3:30 and jogging to the front door. She put her purchases down on the step as she fumbled in the bag for her key, finally pulling it out and fitting it into the lock.

"Mum, Dad," she called as she stepped into the hall.

"In the Kitchen" replied her father, sticking his head around the door "Did you get the coffee love?"

"Yep," said Hermione happily, swinging the bag up to show him, "And I got the flowers Mum wanted too." She waved the paper bundle in her other hand as she spoke. Her mother poked her own head around the door; her eyes were red, as if she had been crying. Hermione immediately became concerned.

"Are you OK Mum?" she asked, putting the flowers down to give her mother a hug, "Your eyes are really red." Her mother smiled brightly.

"I've got a touch of hay-fever love, my eyes are really itchy." She smiled again and it occurred to Hermione that it seemed a trifle forced, but she handed her mother the coffee bag.

"More books Hermione?" asked her father reaching for the coffee. Hermione flashed him a sheepish grin as he handed them to her smiling, although it seemed to her that there was a touch of sadness around his eyes too. He turned back into the kitchen with the coffee.

"I'm going to need a new bookcase soon; I've had the old one for ages."

"We'll see" replied her mother, her smile definitely and effort now, and moisture creeping again into the corners of her eyes. She blew her nose defiantly on a tissue from the box on the telephone table. "This hay-fever," she muttered thickly "I've been sneezing all afternoon" and she too went back into the kitchen. "Would you arrange the flowers love?" she called to her daughter.

"OK Mum" said Hermione, picking up the freesias again and opening the living room door. As she busied herself collecting the vases Hermione reflected that after a storm the pollen count dropped so her mothers' tears could not possibly be caused by a simple allergic reaction. Possibly her parents had had one of their infrequent arguments, the Grangers were a close and loving family, but everyone's parents argued now and then. It was just like her mother, Hermione reflected, to try to shield her daughter from the fact that angry words had been exchanged. Thinking back Hermione realised that her parents had both been a little edgy for a week or so, she hadn't really thought about it, dismissing it, and putting her mothers slight mood swings down to the start of the menopause. She had discovered a leaflet for HRT on her mothers' bedside table the week she had returned from Hogwarts, and guessed that her mother was considering trying it out. Hermione put it out of her mind again, her parents loved each other, and their only daughter, and she picked up the vases to be filled with water.

The flowers finished and placed to her satisfaction Hermione went into the kitchen, from which all sorts of tantalising smells were coming. Her parents had been hard at work; her mother was putting a large, pan seared pork joint in the oven, its skin glistened with the olive oil used to create the crackling and her father was transferring his special chocolate and ginger puddings to the fridge. The starter on which they had been working before Hermione went out was also in there and her father was carefully balancing the little desert ramekins on top of each other to make more room. The crystallised ginger, some of which her father had chopped up to go into the pudding, was still sitting on the work surface.

"Don't you dare" said her mother sharply, as she turned to see Hermione eying the treat hopefully. "You'll get to eat it tonight." Hermione made a mock pout,

"But I'm hungry" she said winsomely, opening her eyes wide and fluttering her eyelashes. Her mother grinned and handed her a banana from the fruit bowl.

"That will keep you going until later", Hermione mock pouted again

"Can't I have a couple of apricots as well?"

"Alright, they are in the fridge." Hermione located the apricots, which had been left over from the preparation of the starter and scurried upstairs with her new books.


	4. Chapter 4

**Another chapter, sorry it too so long, but my muse deserted me (I think she got tired of correcting my spelling!), but I'm back on track now, although not for long as I'm off home for my mothers wedding soon!**

**PLEEEEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSEEEE review, the stats say that over 100 people have read this story (106 apparently) but I've had only one review, that is less than 1 of my readership. Criticism of the spelling, punctuation and grammar is appreciated, but only if you say exactly what is wrong (I'm dyslexic so probably won't spot it!).**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Am I JK Rowling? Nope, therefore are all the characters mine? You figure it out!**

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Just before 6pm by the bedside clock Hermione heard her mother come up the stairs and go into the bathroom. A minute later the sound of gushing water indicated that she was having a shower before her guests arrived. Hermione slipped off the bed and wandered downstairs, 6pm meant that the news would be on.

She pushed open the door of the living room and moved across it to turn on the television. Settling into one of the armchairs she pulled her feet up under her, and fished in the little pocket in the fabric for the remote control. Flicking to BBC 1 she caught the Neighbours theme tune as the show ended. When she had been younger she had been a fan of Neighbours, the Australian soap set in the fictional district of Erinsbrough, and it had been the top TV program at her junior school for a couple of years. Since starting Hogwarts she had given up watching it however, after a gap of three months at a time it was almost impossible to pick up the plot again. Sighing she watched with spurious interest a trailer for some investigative journalists' new series, then perked up at the news came on the air.

In uncertain times it made sense to keep an eye on what was happening everywhere else. She got the Daily Prophet of course, the newspaper for the wizarding community, but that couldn't be trusted to report the news of Death Eater attacks fully. Hermione preferred to match the information given by the Muggle media with the Prophet and get a fuller picture.

Reports from overseas went by first, another three soldiers killed in Iraq, and a prominent Shiite politician kidnapped. Reports of a building collapsing in Tokyo made her prick up her ears a bit; however it would be unlikely that Voldemort would want a war on two fronts so probably it was just a case of shoddy building materials and unstable ground. A long spiel about French protests came next; apparently the government was threatening to cut benefits and their public sector workers were all out on strike. Again unlikely to have a wizard cause behind it.

Then came the home news; something about the British government bringing in legislation to make schools more independent, not that Hermione cared, after all she already went to an independent school. More waffle about a smoking ban, as if a government being given money by the tobacco industry would ever seriously consider that. Then it came

"A young child aged three has been rescued from his home in Derby were his mother had died. Police say that the young woman, now named as Nanette Feather, probably died of heart failure. Her young son, who was trapped in the flat with her body for two weeks apparently survived on crisps and dried pasta that he found in the kitchen cupboards." Hermione watched curiously as the picture changed to the local chief of police.

"We are not treating this incident as suspicious." he intoned, "The boy is being taken care of by his relatives, obviously the family is shocked and saddened by this tragedy."

"Ms Feather, who lost her husband two months ago, is not thought to have committed suicide." continued the newsreader, "Her body was discovered by police who broke into the flat when a neighbour reported that neither she, nor her child, had been seen for several days." The picture of the flat and street outside faded back into the features of the newsreader again. "And finally, London Zoo has received some good news. Their rare Chilean Tree Frogs have started breeding." Hermione switched off the television set and hurried back upstairs.

Grabbing the Prophet she flicked through until she found the page she was looking for, "Nanette Feather, wife of the aurora Rudolphus Feather, found dead, Ministry rules out Death Eater attack." True the usual hallmarks of a Death Eater killing were missing; she had died in a Muggle block of flats and no-one else had been harmed, her son had survived, and there had been no sign of the Dark Mark above the building. It aggravated Hermione not to know the full story and worried her that the Ministry of Magic was publicly dismissing the matter. She resolved to ask Mr Weasley, her good friend Ron's father, what was actually happening.

At 7:35 that evening the sound of the door-bell rang through the house, as Hermione was coming out of the toilet. As she hurried downstairs her mother opened the door.

"Marianne, Charles, come in! How are you?" the two women embraced, while the two men shook hands.

Hermione smiled, Marianne and Charles Darrigan were two of her parents' oldest friends, both were from England, although they now lived the south coast of France in a beautiful four roomed villa overlooking the sea. When the Granger family went to France on holiday they often stayed with the Darrigans', enjoying the lavish hospitality the childless couple were capable of.

Hermione couldn't remember them coming to the UK before, although she supposed they must have done so occasionally; from comments they had let fall she believed that Charles' father was still alive, but that he had been unhappy about his sons' marriage to Marianne and had seldom spoken to them in the 20 years they had been together.

"Hermione!" cried Marianne, bringing Hermione out of her reverie as she rushed to embrace the girl. Marianne was a tall, elegant woman with long curly hair; Charles was of medium height with mousy brown a neat beard, now rather shot with grey. It occurred to Hermione that they both looked rather careworn, certainly more so than when she had seen them the previous summer, Charles in particular appeared to have aged dramatically.

"Shall we go into the lounge?" asked Mrs Granger, ushering the guests in before her, "Hermione love will you get the sherry glasses from the kitchen."

Hermione scuttled off to find the glasses and a tray to put them on, the two sherry bottles were standing on the work surface ready to be taken through. The tiny glasses were right at the back of one of the wall cupboards so she had to climb on to a stool to reach them. When she had arranged the tray to her satisfaction Hermione carried it out to the sitting room. Pausing at the door to readjust the tray she caught the tail end of the adults conversation.

"...tell her?" said Charles voice.

"After dinner." Replied her mother decidedly as Hermione pushed open the door. "Thank you darling" she continued, smiling at her daughter as Hermione put the tray down on one of the nested tables, "Dry or sweet sherry for you Marianne?"

"Sweet please,"

"And Charles drinks the dry, yes?"

"Of course!"

Hermione covertly observed her mother as the drinks were poured, her smile seemed a little forced and her gaiety had a slightly brittle quality.

Dinner was delicious, her parents, Hermione reflected, were both fantastic cooks. The starter was a wonderful fresh apple sorbet with an apricot coulis and pieces of apricot as a garnish; the whole was not to sweet, but wonderfully cleansing to the palette. The pork was juicy and tender, the potatoes crisp and the carrots and asparagus perfect. Someone, probably her father, had added a little Rowan Jelly to the gravy which gave the sauce a sweet and spicy finish.

The puddings were every bit as nice as Hermione expected, rich and chocolaty with the tang of ginger at the edge.

The conversation wandered around politics (although Hermione contributed little to this), literature, and television, the Marianne asked the question which Hermione had prepared carefully for;

"And how are you finding school Hermione?"

"I love it." Replied Hermione, visibly lighting up, "It is so much fun!"

"Which subjects are you studying now?" asked Charles, smiling down the table at her.

"I'm enjoying maths and science." She said, silently reminding herself that arithmancy, potions and herbology are almost equivalent subjects. "Our science teacher is a bit difficult to get along with though; he doesn't like people from my house much."

"I had some teachers like that at school." Said Marianne, smiling at the recollection, "Our...er...English teacher was fierce, came down hard on mispronunciations."

"The science teacher was the worst though" Put in Charles, "He always played favourites, especially if you had a famous or well connected relative."

"Oh?" asked Hermione, slightly puzzled, "Did you both go to the same school?"

"Yes." Replied Charles, smiling across the table at her, "You could say we were childhood sweethearts." He put out his hand and gently covered Marianne's with it, long fingers curling under her palm to give it a small squeeze.

After dinner Hermione cleared the table, carrying the best plates and coffee cups out to the kitchen to stack by the sink ready to be washed up once the guests were gone. The delicate china ware, with its pretty green and gold pattern was far too precious to be left in a dishwasher. The set had been a wedding present from Hermiones maternal grandparents who had both died by the time she was 7. Hermione had only a hazy recollection of Grandmamma Dickson, and none at all of Grandpappa who had died when she was only 4 years old. Granny and Granddad Granger came to see them every Christmas, or they went up to Newcastle for a visit, and some summers Hermione would travel up with her aunt Joanne to stay for a few days.

Switching on the kettle she found the best coffee pot on the surface with the cups and the bag of coffee which she had bought earlier. Carefully she spooned the ground beans into the pot and poured milk from the fridge into the matching jug. The sugar bowl was already filled with course, golden brown sugar, as a child Hermione had sometimes stuck a moistened finger into the sugar bowl and enjoyed a naughty snack! The kettle bubbled fiercely and turned itself off as she found the silver teaspoons and rinsed them off under the tap. Carefully placing the cups, sugar, milk and spoons on a tray she carried it through to the lounge where the adults were waiting, and put it down on a table.

"Have you made the coffee as well darling?" asked her father, smiling.

"The kettle has just boiled, I'll get it now" replied Hermione, bustling back towards the door.

"Can you get the after dinner mints from the top of the fridge?" called her mother after her as she left the room.

Hermione had no problems in finding the chilled sweets, and quickly poured the hot water into the coffee pot before returning to the lounge with both items.

Once in the lounge Marianne smiled and patted the cushion of the sofa next to her invitingly.

"Come and sit here Hermione"

Hermione obligingly sat as her mother poured out coffee and went through the milk and sugar routine. She now looked, Hermione thought, as if she would burst into tears at any minute and her hands were trembling, causing the elegant cups to rattle against the saucers as she passed them round. Once the coffee had been dispensed Hermiones' father looked at her gravely.

"My darling we have something very important to tell you." He clasped his wife's hand and she gripped his back convulsively. "Hermione, I'm not sure how we should break this to you," he paused uncertainly, "Your...your mother and I..." again he trailed off looking into his daughters sweet, worried face.

Charles cleared his throat "Perhaps I should..." Hermione turned her wide eyed gaze on him.

Mr Granger looked relieved, "yes, yes if you wish."

Charles cleared his throat again, "Ahem, Hermione, your parents were not able to have children," now he paused and Hermione glanced back at her mother who looked very white. "Your parents wanted a child so they adopted one...you in fact, erm..."

Marianne took up the thread "Hermione, Charles...Charles an I could not keep you as our own, it was too dangerous, there were dark forces afoot."

Hermione glanced desperately from one worried face to the next. "What are you saying?" she gasped as her throat contracted. Her hands shook so much that the untouched coffee in her cup spilt into the saucer. She put the cup down ton the table as it suddenly seemed to have become unbearably heavy. "What are you talking about?" she demanded again.

"Hermione," Charles voice quavered slightly, "We...Marianne and I...we had to give you up, we gave you to the Grangers, so they could look after you, keep you safe."

"Hermione they are your parents, not us." Burst out her mother, the tears now beginning to trickle and fall. "I'm sorry my darling, I'm so sorry" Hermiones eyes filled too and the tightness in her throat became more extreme, she shook all over as she almost fell out of the chair and half walked, half crawled over to her mother and put her arms around the woman whom she knew as 'mother.'

"Mummy."


	5. Chapter 5

**Only a short update I'm afraid. I'm off home on Friday so won't be able to update for at least a month (I've still got to write the next chapter), but this should keep you going until then! Still only one percent of my readers have reviewed this (Two out of two hundred is one percent yes? My maths is dreadful). Please review, even if you are totally indifferent to it! As usual and SPaG issues should be pointed out to me which gives you a chance to review, ha ha.**

**Disclaimer: This is not mine and I'm not making any money out of the characters!**

"Hermione" said Marianne gently, putting a hand on the sobbing girls back, "I'm sorry my darling, we did what we thought was best."

"Why tell me now?" asked Hermione tearfully "Why not before?" she turned a woebegone countenance on the older woman.

"It was too dangerous at first." put in Charles, "Believe me, we thought it was for the best."

"Dangerous?" queried Hermione, his words sinking through the cocoon of shock in which she was wrapped. "Dangerous how?"

Charles glanced at Hermiones parents with a raised eyebrow

"You never told her about us?"

Mr Granger shook his head, "No, it never seemed to be the right time." he saw that Hermione was shooting glances between them, looking utterly bemused, tears drying on her face as she continued to pat and sooth Mrs Grangers shaking shoulder. Marianne stood up and left the room suddenly, Hermione could hear her in the kitchen, opening the cupboards, then she came back with a half full bottle of whisky. She added a generous tot to the cooling coffee cups and proffered one to the sobbing woman.

"Drink this dear." she said kindly, as Mrs Granger took the cup.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what has come over me." she said, choking a little over the warm liquid. "I knew this was coming, I just found it so hard." she looked over at Hermione who had returned to her seat on the sofa, "You see why we didn't tell you before!" she gave her adopted daughter a watery smile. "I find that I just can't bear the though of giving you up for good."

Seeing the flash of very real fear on Hermiones face Charles said kindly "Marianne and I don't want to take her away from you. You are her parents, you raised her and she loves you." He turned to a relieved Hermione, "We would however like you to meet our families, they never knew about you. As I said it was just too dangerous."

"What danger would I have been in?" asked Hermione, getting to what had been puzzling her. "Am I in danger now?"

Charles looked sad, "No more than we all are, but now you are older you can look after yourself a bit more." he paused, but Hermione had quickly schooled her face into a bemused expression, of course she could look after herself, the previous year had proved that.

"Hermione, I am a wizard and Marianne is a witch, like you." continued Charles "We went to Hogwarts too."

"You know about you-know-who of course?" added Marianne, and when Hermione nodded her assent she continued, "Well my grandmother was muggleborn, although very powerful and my family never had much money. The Darrigans are pureblood and quite wealthy, and although my grandfather was pure-blooded they thought I was too common to associate with their son." She smiled across at her husband "They wanted him to marry one of the Black girls, so we eloped."

Charles smiled back "My father never forgave me, he was one of those who secretly supported He who must not be named, and my sister went even further, she became one of his Death Eaters." Sadness tinged his face. "Lilleth was killed by the auroras, but by then you-know-who was after me. We had openly fought against him with the ministry, but then Marianne fell pregnant with you. You know he liked to torture his victims for fun? Well what better way to destroy a parent's life than to kill their child?"

"Is that why you had me adopted?" asked Hermione breathlessly "But why tell me now?"

"We were going to tell you when you came of age, but now that you-know-who is back..."

"You want to be able to protect me? But I can look after myself"

"I know you can." said Marianne firmly, "But after what happened at the Ministry of Magic you-know-who will be looking for all those who stopped him getting the prophecy."

"How do you know about that? I thought that the Ministry hushed it all up."

"Charles and I both worked for the Ministry, we still have contacts and your little escapade was very difficult to keep quiet although it never reached the general magical community. Rumours have leaked out; you may find that the school is buzzing with gossip when you get back."

Suddenly Hermione felt very tired, there was almost too much for her to take in at once and the wave of unaccustomed emotions had receded, leaving her feeling drained.

"I think I'd like to go to bed now." her voice was surprisingly steady although she still felt very shaken.

"Charles and I would like you to come and visit us for a couple of days before you go back to school if you could, we are staying with my parents." said Marianne hopefully, "Of course you don't have to if you don't want to."

"Yes...um...yes I'll...I'll come." stammered Hermione, on the point of fleeing for the sanctuary of her room "Maybe next week, I...I don't know, ask Mum." and she almost ran from the room.

Charles summoned some small tumblers which he filled up with the whisky which was still sitting on the coffee table. Handing them around he said "Well that went better than I feared it might."

Up in her bedroom Hermione heard the visitors leave a few hours later. Despite her mental exhaustion sleep had eluded her, as it would continue to do for the rest of the night.


End file.
